Euphemisms
by Nightshade2412
Summary: Walking into a trap was even worse than being bait, but Alex did it anyway. AKA the one in which Alex and Yassen have a lot of unresolved issues. For SpyFest 2019, Week Three.


**A.N. My SpyFest week three entry! For the prompt, "Alex's best punchline to a villain." I, um, sort of answered it? Ish? I was inspired by it, at least, even if it was via a winding road of not-what-I-planned-but-ok to reach this hot mess.**

**I feel like I should put a warning here for violence and death, although it's not super graphic. And also a disclaimer because I really don't own anything**_**. **_**And I don't **_**want **_**to. I'd ask you not to kill me, but life is a joke and death is the punchline, and it would probably be poetic justice if you did.**

**Enjoy?**

* * *

Heavy rain clouds scudded across the sky, shadows sweeping across from one side of the theatre to the other. Alex pulled his blazer close around himself, attempting to ignore the prickly feeling at the back of his neck and focus on the speaker, dressed to the nines in Elizabethan garb as she rattled off facts about the reconstructed theatre. Just a healthy dose of paranoia, that was all. And with his history when it came to school trips, could he really be blamed?

He glanced around again, looking for anything out of place, although he wasn't really sure what that meant, especially here in the Globe where "normal behaviour" didn't have a clear definition. The people wearing weird clothes were just actors, the man with a camera just a tourist. Nothing to worry about. And yet…

Mr Kydd cleared his throat, only separated from Alex by Tom Harris. Alex met his history teacher's glare and turned back to the front, resolving again to just let this be an ordinary field trip. Educational. He was struggling with English Lit, and found Shakespeare particularly hard to understand. History wasn't much better. He _needed _this, he deserved a chance to catch up with school without his life as a spy catching up with him every time he took a moment to breathe.

But then again, it wasn't like he ever got a choice in the matter.

(Or maybe he did. But it was easier to keep pretending that he was still the kid being blackmailed into an industry he didn't understand than admit that he understood the thrill of danger all too well and charged headfirst towards it.)

Despite his best attempts to listen, the lecture went over his head. It wasn't that he was glazing over like Spencer clearly was - quite the opposite. He was entirely alert, his senses stretched out examining everyone and everything in the theatre.

Tom sensed his unease, elbowing him and hissing, "Everything okay?"

"I- yeah. Nothing's wrong," Alex whispered back, trying to make himself believe it.

"No, something's definitely wrong - I think I'm gonna _die _of boredom."

Alex's lips twitched, but he couldn't say reply because Tom starting a whispered conversation while they were standing right next to the teacher wasn't his smartest move.

The tour guide was joined by another actor and they moved over to the stage.

"We're going to need a couple of volunteers for this bit!" she said brightly. The students didn't return her smile.

"I think these two would _love _to do it," Mr Kydd said, when it became evident that no one was about to jump at the chance to embarrass themselves in front of their classmates. "Go on boys. If you're so eager to talk, you can do it on stage."

They groaned, but there was no getting out of it. Alex ignored the side steps and pulled himself up onto the stage, turning to offer a hand to his equally athletic but much shorter friend.

"Perfect!" the much-too-cheerful guide exclaimed. "Now the famous scene I'm going to get you to try might have been written for a man and a woman, but since they only used male actors in the original performances this will be extra authentic. And here at the Globe we love getting back to Shakespeare's roots! So, which of you wants to play Juliet?"

Alex and Tom stared at each other in horror as their friends broke out in laughter.

"You do it," they both said at the same time.

Tom shifted his arm conspicuously. Alex frowned.

"You do _not _get to pull that one on me," he complained. "Not after all the time you've spent reassuring me that it wasn't my fault."

Tom gave his trademark mischievous grin. "I'm not above using your massive guilt complex against you if it gets me out of wearing a wig."

"Who said anything about a-" Alex stopped as he followed Tom's gaze to the curly blonde monstrosity the guide was holding up excitedly. "Oh, no, absolutely not." He lowered his voice to the quietest whisper possible. "If it weren't for me, you'd have died of smallpox. Or nanoshells."

"Alright, Mr Superhero, that settles it. You're playing Juliet - gotta shrink that ego. And if you like saving people so much, you'll save _me _from this public humiliation."

Alex would have protested the first bit, but Tom knew what he was doing with the latter - his friend would always, at least with a bit of pushing, put others first.

"You owe me for this," he hissed.

Tom's grin grew even wider. "I'm sure you'll look very pretty," he said in a consoling tone which didn't console Alex at all.

"Have you decided?" the second actor asked, tapping his foot.

"Indeed, good sir," Tom answered. "Methinks _I _will play the dashing Romeo, and Alex here will take the part of the fair maid Juliet."

Alex gave him a final quelling glare that only served to make him even more smug than before and begrudgingly accepted the wig, doing his best to ignore the sniggers from - well, just about everyone, even the tourists who weren't with their group.

They were handed scripts for the balcony scene and Alex was led up to the gallery at the back of the stage by the actor helping out with the workshop, who gave him a stream of patronising advice the whole way up on the meaning of _wherefore art thou Romeo? _and oddly specific nuances that Alex was sure he wouldn't remember when they did the scene. He was more interested in the layout of the building - the quickest ways out, the routes leading backstage, the trapdoors in the ceiling and the floor.

_Paranoid_.

He let his gaze wander as Tom started his speech, the tour guide directing him and offering explanations to help make sense of the Shakespearean mumbo jumbo. Tom hardly needed it - he might be bottom of the class, with worse understanding than Alex, but everyone knew about Romeo and Juliet, and Tom was hamming it up for the audience. But Alex still couldn't focus, even as strains of laughter drifted up. The balcony gave him an excellent view over the entire theatre, and he used the opportunity to scan it again.

A man crossing the pit drew his attention. He was too far for Alex to see his features, but there was something familiar about him… the way he moved, at ease in his body but not seeking attention, a kind of quiet grace.

A distant memory tugged at him, but he pushed it away. It was impossible. He had nothing to go on except his assumption that it was no longer possible for him to have a field trip.

_Not nothing. Instinct._

"Juliet? Alex? It's your cue."

He dragged his attention back to his class, looking up at him expectantly.

"Sorry. Thought I saw a ghost," Alex said.

The man stilled, just for half a second. He didn't look up and it was probably a fluke - but the hesitation was there, and Alex caught it.

"Wrong play, dear. We're doing _Romeo and Juliet_, not _Hamlet_! Give him the cue again, Tom."

Tom was enjoying himself, but now he cast a worried look up at his friend. Alex resolved to let it go, flashing a reassuring smile and readying his best falsetto so he could have fun giving the performance of their lives with his best friend. When he looked again, the man had already disappeared into the stands.

They only made it halfway through the scene.

"O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon," Alex simpered, throwing himself into it almost as much as Tom, "that monthly changes in her circled orb-"

He faltered, sensing what was about to happen a second before it did.

A single gunshot. A red hole appearing in the forehead of someone on the opposite side of the room. They swayed and fell, blood spreading in the kind of way most of the kids had thought only happened in TV shows. And Alex, without pausing to consider, vaulted over the railing, rolling to his feet and leaping over the heads of his classmates in the pit.

The assassin had been trying to leave without being noticed in the midst of the panic, but seeing Alex sprinting towards him he started running too, slipping through the crowds with the same deadly ease that Alex had recognised earlier.

He was too far ahead, and he was fast. Alex supposed this had some kind of influence on his subconscious, but it still took him by surprise when, in a final moment of desperation, he yelled out: "Gregorovich!"

He didn't know what he expected to happen. Probably for the man to keep going - Alex hadn't had a clear look at his face, he could disappear and Alex would never know for sure if it was him.

But Yassen stopped and turned, started stalking towards him, the tourists scrambling out of his way in terror, and Alex thought he might have seriously misjudged his decision to chase after one of the deadliest men on earth. He switched from sprinting forwards to scrambling back. Time had warped his perception, made him think that maybe the man wasn't as bad as he had thought when he first heard of him.

Yassen had spared his life more than once, even taken a bullet for him. But he had also killed Alex's uncle, and a lot of other people. Including someone right here, in broad daylight, with tourists milling about everywhere.

"Yes, I'm alive. I recovered well and I'm for hire again. Does that answer your questions, little Alex?"

"You- he-" Alex stammered, looking between Yassen's stony face and the corpse.

"He's not important."

"But he's-"

"Shuffled off this mortal coil? Yes. Or have you forgotten my profession?"

"Yeah, well," Alex said as he was forced back until his back hit the stage, conscious of his classmates now surrounding them, "wrong play. We're doing _Romeo and Juliet, _not _Hamlet._"

"I can see that," Yassen said, smirking as his eyes flicked upwards. "Nice curls."

Alex yanked the offending article off, remembering how ridiculous he looked in the wig and his school uniform.

"Why are you here?" he asked tiredly. "Why now? God, why can't I just have a normal day out for _once_?"

Yassen's eyes flickered with something that could have been sympathy, but his words were harsh.

"Because at some point, Alex, you made a choice. Maybe you didn't realise it at the time. But you walked into the lion's den, and now they've dug their claws into you. I tried to warn you, but I can't help you anymore."

"I don't need your help. And I don't _want _it. Not from someone like you."

"Someone like me?" Yassen raised his eyebrows. "We are more alike than you know, Alex."

"Shut up," Alex snapped, because it was one thing to have doubts creep up on him in the dark and quite another to hear someone else say it.

"Enjoy the rest of your day, Juliet," Yassen said, turning away. "Don't come after me again."

"What if I do?" Alex asked.

Yassen moved with the speed of a cobra, pressing Alex against the stage and wrapping a hand around his throat. A few people screamed, reminding Alex that he had an audience. But his eyes were locked onto Yassen's.

"I've paid my debts," Yassen said, tapping his chest where Cray's bullet had hit. "And you're not a child anymore."

_I don't kill children,_ Yassen had told him once. Alex had never fully believed him, but he caught the underlying threat now.

Alex went very still, although if Yassen didn't let up on the bruising pressure soon he'd have to start struggling. He tried not to let his fear show, but they were nose to nose, eye to eye, and _of course _Yassen could tell how he was feeling.

The building had fallen into a hush. It was broken by the creak of the stage floor. Yassen glanced up, and Alex couldn't tell what he was looking at, but he looked amused by it.

"What are you planning to do with that?" Yassen asked.

He didn't wait for an answer, letting Alex go and looking around, reevaluating his exit options. Instead of trying to go back out of the main entrance like he had originally planned, he pushed Alex to the side and climbed onto the stage. Tom gulped as the assassin brushed past him, his script rolled up and still brandished in his hand, but he had given up on whatever rash action he had been about to carry out.

Yassen yanked up the trapdoor in the stage and disappeared into the bowels of the theatre. It was fitting, Alex thought, remembering the tour guide's description of the theatre: the space above the stage was referred to as heaven. The space below was hell.

He sagged where he stood, hair flopping over his eyes.

"What the hell, Alex?" James Hale whispered.

His teachers finally forced themselves into motion.

"Care to explain, Alex?" Mr Kydd demanded, but he sounded tired more than angry.

"Alex, are you ok?" That was Tom, jumping down beside him..

He shook his head, turning away from the stares.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," he muttered so only his friend could hear.

Tom put himself between Alex and the crowd as Alex struggled to get himself under control.

"He's not dead," he whispered to himself. It still didn't seem believable.

"What?" Tom asked.

"Nothing," Alex said, turning back round. "What _were _you going to do with that script?"

"Uh… batter him with it until he let you go?" Tom said.

Alex let out a laugh bordering on hysterical. "Thanks, Tom… but please, never do that again."

"You're my mate."

"Yeah, but he's- he- _God_. Can we please get out of here?"

Mr Kydd followed his gaze to the body - Gregorovich's victim, whoever it might be - and then to his students, looking various degrees of pale to just about to throw up.

"Alright everyone, I'm afraid we'll have to cut our visit short today," he said in an admirable attempt at a cheery, nothing-is-wrong teacher voice. Although everyone could tell he was faking it, they were relieved that someone was taking control. "Let's head back to the coach."

Alex let himself get herded out with the others. He could feel the stares and knew the gossiping whispers would start up soon enough, but right now all he cared about was getting out of there before the police came to take statements - he could already hear the sirens in the distance.

"Rider, you're sitting next to me," Mr Kydd said as they were getting on.

Alex exchanged glances with Tom, but he knew his friend would force an explanation out of him if they were together and the entire bus would be trying to listen on anything he said, so he complied quietly

"Alex, we need to know what happened there," his history teacher said softly.

"I… don't really know myself," Alex answered. "Please can I contact my guardian?"

He pulled out his phone without waiting for an answer, turning the brightness right down before scrolling through his contacts.

He realised then that he didn't have Mrs Jones' contact details. After he returned to London with Jack, he had been hoping for at least a few months reprieve before she followed in Blunt's footsteps using him. The only option was the one Smithers had put in before giving him the phone - but that was for use on missions, and the man had quit working for MI6. He didn't know if it would still work, or who would pick up.

He pressed it anyway.

_Yassen is alive, _he texted first, and hit _send._

His fingers hovered over the screen, as he considered the thoughts eating at him. _Did you know?_

Finally, realising that he had barely scratched the surface and still needed damage control, he added, _My whole class just saw me confront him after he killed someone at the Globe._

Then he got out his headphones and spent the rest of the trip lost in thought, looking so weary that Mr Kydd let him be.

* * *

A car was waiting for him when they got back to school, Crawley standing by the door. Alex slipped away before he could be called back, letting out a sigh of relief that his messages had gotten through as he sank into the plush seats.

Mrs Jones didn't force him to wait when he arrived. He wondered what she'd cleared from her schedule to accommodate him. He shook his sense of déja vu away as he settled into debriefing mode, giving his account in as detached a manner as possible, but his voice shook more and more as he described the conversation with Yassen.

"Did you know he was still alive?" he asked again when he was done, because he'd never received a reply to the texts he'd sent.

Mrs Jones hesitated, but she went with the truth. "Yes."

"For how long? You didn't that maybe I deserved to know?"

"You've always been reluctant to have anything to do with us. And I didn't want you going after him alone, with no protection."

She made a good point, but Alex was still angry.

"So, what? When _were _you going to tell me? When you wanted something from me?"

"We were trying to deal with him ourselves first, before bringing you in," Mrs Jones said. "But we haven't had much success."

"Yeah, that much is obvious," he said, swallowing down the memory of the dead man in the theatre.

She didn't reply to that at once, instead reaching for a mint from the bowl on her desk and unwrapping it slowly.

"Want one?"

"No, thanks."

Alex watched her with trepidation, wondering what bad news she was trying to sweeten now.

"We had hoped that with Gregorovich's age and injury, he would be easier to catch, but he's more dangerous than ever. This was only the second assassination since his recovery which we can be certain he was responsible for, but there are a whole string of others that could be him." She sighed. "Near death experiences will have some effect on anyone, especially someone like him who doesn't have anyone to talk to about it. A lot of the deaths have been more public than we would have expected of him."

"What are you saying?" Alex asked, not liking what she was hinting at.

"Did he seem a little… unhinged?"

Alex considered, blinking a few times. "That's really unspecific. And I mean, he's a contract killer, I've never thought he was totally sane."

"He takes a lot of risks these days."

"I - okay." Alex couldn't help but think that he took a lot of risks too, and he didn't like the comparison.

_We are more alike than you know, Alex._

"It feels like he's been showing off. Maybe he's not afraid of being caught anymore. But he's certainly not afraid of being ruthless." She rolled the mint around in her mouth. "As I say, we only have two confirmed assassinations, but he's also killed both operatives that were sent after him. And he… well, he wasn't afraid of making an example of them."

Alex let that sink in. "I get the picture, Mrs Jones. So let's skip to the end. Either you want something from me or you don't."

"I'm not going to force you into anything, not with this."  
"Just spit it out."

"Gregorovich isn't inhuman, but he has very few known weaknesses. And the biggest one that we have witnessed is you."

"Me?"  
"Yes. He's shown that he's unwilling to kill you. Even that he was willing to sacrifice himself for you. You could get closer to him than anybody else… at the least, you would provide a distraction."

"Ok," Alex said, "I'll help you."  
"Are you sure? Because you really don't have to. We'll sort out the situation with your school either way."

"I'm sure. Thanks, Mrs Jones."

"We'll have to act soon, before he leaves the country again. Go home for now. We'll contact you soon."

* * *

Alex didn't know what he had expected - it wasn't like there was a pattern when it came to Yassen Gregorovich. The man had exploited his targets' routines often enough for him to be careful about avoiding them himself. So learning that his next murder was also set to happen at a playhouse came as a surprise.

Stratford-upon-Avon. He had been there once before, while his uncle was still alive, and vaguely remembered Jack mentioning the place after he found her. But he could have lived quite happily without ever learning as much about the town as he did from his briefing on the way there.

He wasn't given a disguise - no haircut, no piercings. That wasn't the point. And there was no Smithers anymore, so instead of an array of ingenious gadgets he was given a panic button and, for the first time, a gun. It was something he'd asked for every mission, but to actually be given one wasn't as reassuring as he'd thought. The opposite, in fact, uncomfortable dread settling over him.

They slipped him into the Royal Shakespeare Theatre working front-of-house, checking tickets for the performance of _Hamlet _and directing people in the general direction of their seats. He felt exposed and vulnerable, going up against someone who already knew him, basically bait. It wouldn't take long for Yassen to find him, and Mrs Jones had explained the most likely scenarios to come after that.

"Gregorovich knows how to be sneaky. He's used to going unnoticed and working around security. There's a chance he'll carry out the assassination and escape before we even know he's there. But he's also paranoid. Just finding you there - and so soon after the Globe - he'll know something's gone wrong. He might be spooked enough to postpone." She shrugged. "Maybe we won't catch him, but at least your presence would be enough to save the target's life. It's perhaps what we would have expected before Cray, when he was careful about not attracting too much attention."

"But?"

"But," Mrs Jones agreed, "he's a lot more reckless these days. He's more likely to go ahead anyway, just to stick it to us that he can. There's a chance it could get messy. Or he might confront you, and ideally you'll be able to distract him until backup arrives."

Except that the play was _Hamlet_, not _All's Well That Ends Well_, and Alex wasn't expecting a happy ending.

He was already jittery when the first members of the audience arrived. He knew all his colleagues for the night were faking their smiles, but his own acting skills were being put to the test as much as any of those on stage.

As the flood of people coming in slowed to a trickle, he started to think that Yassen had evaded him - he wasn't the only one doing this job, after all, and even though he was positioned to see most of the people entering the building, it was possible he'd missed him in the crowd. He didn't think Yassen would want to be late; the annoyance caused would make people more likely to remember him.

But Yassen didn't turn up until everyone else had gone in, although his utter lack of surprise made Alex suspect that he'd been lurking for a while. He made eye contact immediately, and Alex pressed the panic button at once, but he knew there was an indefinite window before the rest of the team arrived where it was left up to him to improvise.

The ghost made his first appearance on stage, and Yassen made his second appearance to Alex since his supposed death.

The assassin held his gaze just a moment more, before turning away purposefully. Alex didn't hesitate to follow, unease growing as they moved away from the auditorium, finally reaching the men's room. Yassen slipped inside, and Alex was pretty sure it wasn't because he needed to use the toilet.

God, walking into a trap was even worse than being bait.

He did it anyway.

"I thought I made myself clear the other day, over what would happen if you came after me again, yet here we are," Yassen said, leaning against the sinks.

Alex smiled weakly. "Since when do I do as I'm told?"

Yassen smiled back, but it wasn't friendly, more like he was baring his teeth. Alex took a tiny step back, hitting the door behind him, and wasn't this like it had been in the Globe, rash decisions faced with intimidation and powerlessness.

He could also feel the handgun tucked into his waistband pressed against him, and wondered if Yassen knew it was there. Probably. Should he reach for it?

Yassen was only a few paces away, and knew a dozen ways to kill him with only his pinky finger. He dismissed the idea.

"You're not a child anymore," Yassen told him again.

"I'm fifteen," Alex said.

"You and that little organisation you work for have never cared much for the law before. It's not the arbitrary number that matters."

"_Little organisation? _You've got balls, Yassen."

"Do you find this funny?"

"You tell me," Alex said, and his voice was hard. "Because you seem to be enjoying yourself these days, being extra flamboyant and not caring about hiding and making a fucking _joke _about Shakespeare after you killed that guy."

"I thought you'd appreciate the euphemism," Yassen said, "since that's one of your favourite coping mechanisms. Using humour to mask your fear and hide from the truth."

"What truth?" Alex ground out.

"I think you know, little Alex. Making a witty pun after Grief's helicopter exploded doesn't change the fact that you deliberately killed him. Never acknowledging the deaths you caused without sugarcoating it in pretty words doesn't change what happened. Death is final. You and I, we've had some narrow escapes. But when we finally _cross the great divide_, there's no way back."

"Ok," Alex said, and he refused to let his voice shake, "you're right. I'm not a child anymore. I'm not too young to die. But I'm not too young to kill, either."

Yassen nodded. "Very well. What will it be, then, if you kill me? What's your great punchline, what are you going to use to escape the nightmares."

"I'll have nightmares whatever I say."  
"Humour me. A last request."

"These things usually happen spontaneously, you know, I don't spend ages thinking them up. Gave up the ghost, maybe - you've already taken the best Hamlet-related euphemism, but it seems fitting enough."

"Not bad," Yassen mused. "Not your best, but I'll take it."

Something shifted in the air between them, and then Alex was pulling out his gun, and Yassen was grappling with him for it, and a single shot was fired.

One corpse was left on the bathroom floor, and all the talk of euphemisms was forgotten, because the survivor knew what he had done.


End file.
